Castellan
by sz38
Summary: You've all heard about me from Percy's POV. But have you ever thought about why I commited all those "crimes"? Am I really a traitor? This time you'll understand the story- from a Castellan's POV. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. Rick Riordan does**

The door was no longer a welcoming entrance, a sign of the beloved threshold I'd lived in all my life. It was now a dilapidated wooden board that swung upon corroded, protesting hinges, a precise mirror image of our family- broken down and useless.

I inhaled deeply and willed my mind to calm down. Whatever was on the other side of it could not be any worse. I was wrong.

My room was abhorrent and decrepit, stripped of light and radiance. Crumbled boxes lay upon one drab wall, and ominous creatures darted around to and fro. It reeked of month-old socks and rotten cheese, with a little tint of sweat.

I bit my lip and breathed hard.

Three months away from home, and my room, once my only sanctuary, had been transformed into a repulsive habitat fit only for the repugnant creatures of the sewers. I shouldn't have come home for Christmas after all.

And it was all his fault.

"Hey!" a man's detestable voice hollered from downstairs. "I told you to put your bags down and you take _this _long? Hurry up, you pig!"

Pig? _He_ called _me_ a pig? "YOU'RE THE PIG!" I wanted to scream. But of course, the little courage in my heart refused to allow the words to slip out of my mouth.

Disgusted, and enraged by the grotesque sight, I flung my duffel bag with all my might at the deformed closet, splintering the feeble mahogany into a million pieces.

***

When I stumbled down the fragmented stairs, he was standing there, arms crossed, head raised, eyes stony and cold.

"Boy, do you know how long it took you to drop your freaking bag off at your room?"

I looked down at my shoes. I wanted to hurl a million swear words at him, but I knew it would be ineffective. He would just beat me up as if I were a punch bag and laugh and laugh and laugh.

"What are you, deaf? Or are you mute?" _Slap._ My face was suddenly soaked in intense pain.

"No," I mumbled meekly, "I'm not…deaf or mute."

"Then answer my freaking question!"

"I'm sorry." Already, disobedient tears were leaking out of my eyes. **(A/N: If someone slapped you hard, you would cry too, you know. Maybe just a bit.) **I was not going to give him the satisfaction of making me cry. I wiped my eyes roughly and grumbled, "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for exactly, boy?"

"I'm sorry for wasting your time. I shouldn't have taken so long."

"Good," he cracked his knuckles menacingly, "I think you've learned a lesson."

Ugly images were darting around my brain hysterically- images of him curled up on the floor, wounded and vulnerable, blood seeping from nasty cuts upon his skin.

"Go now," he ordered, shoving me with his hairy, beefy hands. "Your mom calls you. Go before I puke. You make me sick."

I hurried down the hallway, tripping along the way, clutching my throbbing cheek. Anywhere, anywhere on this earth away from him would be fine by me. Even facing my mother would be better than listening to him pound me mercilessly with words and whirling fists. Fists five times bigger than my own.

***

The kitchen was in atrocious disarray, similar to my trashed room. Empty glass bottles littered the floor, and cigarette butts were interspersed on the grungy mud-spattered tiles.

In the centre of the mess sat a distressed woman, her once natural beauty and sympathetic heart engulfed by a hideous mask of make up. My mother, a beautiful and most respected woman years ago, was now leaning across the grimy table, applying a hundredth layer of eyeliner to her weathered eyes and emitting vulgar smoke from a crooked cigarette in her lips.

"Luke, honey," she said between smokes, "Have you met Carlos? He's your new dad."

I was already in a bad mood. This day couldn't get any worse, so I thought, why not?

"You mean the creepy old man that whapped me across the face because I took a millisecond putting my bag away?"

_Crash!_ My mother did not look pleased. A half-full bottle was pitched at me and, thanks to my fast reflects, shattered onto the wall, spewing its contents everywhere and drenching my neck with red liquid.

"Is that the right tone to use with me, Luke?"

I hung my head. Better say nothing than make her mad.

She rubbed out the cigar on the ruined table, making yet another etch upon the frail surface, and pulled out another one from her pocket.

"Give me the lighter."

I obeyed.

She lit up her pipe and blew out tendrils of smoke.

"Let me ask you again. Who is your father?"

She did this routine every time she met a new man. From what I knew, my birth had caused my real dad to disappear without a trace, and never once in the years visit us or contact us in any way.

From when he left until now, my mother had changed greatly. Her heart, as she had told me once when I was small, was beyond repair and broken into a million pieces, just like the empty bottle she'd thrown at me that time.

And it was all _his _fault. It was _his _fault that she was distraught and heartbroken. It was _his _fault that she had been searching sea and sky for him. It was _his _fault that when she had failed miserably and yearned to die, she evolved into a horrendous, shameful lady that lived her life on cigarettes and alcohol and neglected her duties as a mother. As **my **mother. It was _his_ fault that I was constantly getting beaten up by strangers that lived at our home for half a week, and then vanished, taking all our surviving wealth and possessions.

I hated them all.

"Carlos," I muttered with disgust. "Carlos is my father."

She smiled fakely, depicting rotted, stained teeth. "Very well. You may leave now."

**Yes, yes, I need to work on this a lot, but hey, it's my first try! Please comment! This first chapter doesn't tell a lot; it's basically a rough image of Luke's background and stuff. Will update more soon. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own the PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

"_We wish you a merry Christmas,_

_we wish you a merry Christmas,  
_ _we wish you a merry Christmas, _

_and a happy New Year!"_

Beyond the paneless window, I could hear an animated chorus from the ecstatic carolers awaiting the minutes until Christmas. I wished I was like that. Carefree and joyous. But I knew they wouldn't be singing for long.

"_Glad tidings we bring_

_To you and your kin;_

_Glad tidings for Christmas_

_And a happy New Year!" _

I held my breath and counted the seconds. _One, two, three…_

Our front door flew open with a loud _BANG! _I watched in horror at the commotion that was occurring below me, although I had expected it to happen.

It was Carlos. I knew it.

Down below me, he was wrenching the music sheets out of each child's hands, dissipating the pleasure aura that had existed moments ago.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU GUYS THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The carolers looked about to cry. Their faces were flooded with shock and none of them spoke. Even from up here I could hear Carlos' roar resonating. It was a wonder that the police didn't come to arrest him for terrorizing innocent children.

"ARE YOU DEAF? ALL OF YOU? SPEAK UP!"

Still no reply. I felt sorry for these kids. They shouldn't have to suffer the wrath of Carlos' anger. Nevertheless, I did not move from my perch.

"SPEAK! YOU WERE JUST SINGING A MOMENT AGO!"

I bit my lip as I glimpsed streams of tears pouring down the frightened children's cheeks. They all hung their heads.

I saw Carlos' neck getting redder and redder. Although I couldn't see his face, I knew it must be smothered in a grotesque frown.

Carlos raised his arm high. I turned away from the window then, and plugged my ears. I knew what was coming next. He was going to make them wish they hadn't come to announce Christmas, and show them the brutal punishment children receive when they come into "his" territory.

Merry Christmas, huh? More like a day reliving hell and witnessing Carlos terrifying children on the merriest day of the year.

I leaned against the plastered walls, ignoring the boisterous racquet Carlos was causing below, and wished, despite how ridiculous the action, to Santa that my life would take a better turn, that everyone would just leave our family alone, and that my mother would return to the once loving and affectionate person she once was…

**A/N: Some people say I write too…elaborately. So I decided to reduce the fancy language just a bit… hopefully, it doesn't change the story atmosphere/writing technique.**

**Thanks for reading; please review! **

**I apologize if it's being a bit repetitive… I just want to support the build-up of Luke's anger towards the gods… and what led him to become a "traitor".**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO series. Rick Riordan does.**

The rain beat down mercilessly in wild slashes, and the harsh wind swept my hair every which way, as if scoffing at my misfortune and ill-fated life. I could no longer see the way; mist had engulfed the world whole. Night was beginning to settle and the menacing darkness predicted of the infinite hardships I was to encounter soon.

I hefted my backpack, trying to get used to the heaviness. Suddenly leaving home without shelter, sufficient food, preparation, and most of all, an idea of _where I was headed _didn't seem like such a good plan anymore. But I couldn't return back to "home" like a dreary, grungy stray dog. Just imagining Carlos' face smirking with derision fueled my body with rage.

As I staggered aimlessly down the road, immersed in the suffocating silence, the recent memory of what had just happened hours ago replayed itself over and over in my mind.

The repulsive voice of Carlos, drunk, bellowing for me to hurry up with the "Christmas dinner" resounded in my head again. I had been doing my Winter Break homework quietly up in my room and he, taking long swigs from his beer bottle and smoking with my desolate mother, had shrieked for me to serve dinner already. When I had not understood what they'd ordered, I had been beaten up and _punished_ maliciously.

I remember myself, vulnerable and defeated, curled up on the stained kitchen floor in fetus position, arms raised to protect my head. I remember the malicious glint in Carlos' eyes, avid for blood and violence. But most of all, I remember my mother, tears seeping down her cheeks, the expression on her face delusional, as if she was contemplating whether she should help Carlos torment me or stop him.

I shook my head, spraying water droplets in every direction, willing myself to stop remembering. They were gone. They no longer existed. I need not linger around in my memories, reminisce about the past. I was no longer "the boy with the messed up mother that sleeps with various drunken guys". I was now Luke, **Luke Castellan**.

~~Ω~~

Up ahead, a streetlamp flickered strangely, its faint light casting an eerie glow onto the street, illuminating the path before me. The rain ceased abruptly and the quiet _splish-splash_ of the drizzle disappeared. Now the only sounds I could perceive were the accelerating pounding of my heart and the steadfast rhythm of my breathing.

All of a sudden the row of lamps went out, enveloping me in total darkness. I gulped. Outdoors in the wild, powerless, hungry, and weak, a thirteen-year-old boy that had spent all his life hiding from drunken, malevolent men really couldn't stand a chance. But what could go wrong? There weren't any dangerous animals in the woodland areas of Connecticut. Perhaps some foxes, raccoons, the occasional wolf… but I could handle it, right?

I stopped and strained to hear what was before me. Travelling in darkness was impossible, especially when you're walking on a deserted road at midnight. Where was the moon when you needed it most to give off its wonderful luminous radiance?

I took a few steps apprehensively and paused, sucking in my breath. The ground beneath my sore feet trembled ever so slightly. Was it my imagination or was there a noise other than my heavy breathing and throbbing heart?

Yes, I could definitely hear it now. There was a queer thudding, an irregular panting… as if a large beast was breathing…

I bit my lip and didn't dare walk a step. Whatever was in front of me was nearing, slowly, inch by inch.

Instinctively, I zipped open my duffel bag and groped for the only weapon I had with me- my bronze dagger. I'd carried it everywhere when I was outdoors during my childhood years. The history behind it was long and treacherous. It was originally an item I'd brought with me at all times in case of the day I finally found my real _dad_. But that had never happened, and I doubted I'd be able to plunge it into his heart, regardless of how much hate I had for him.

The moon peeked out from behind the obscure clouds at last, bathing me in its soothing rays. I squinted and tried to see beyond the evaporating mist and almost screamed in horror at the appalling creature in front of me…

**A/N: Yes, yes I know, pretty lame ending, but it's late, and I'm losing my inspiration/train of thought. I'm almost there…almost to the point where he meets Grover/Thalia and maybe even Annabeth. But I keep changing ideas… should he have already met Grover? Or should they just be strangers? I leave you to ponder that. (Basically, I need to ponder that too) **

**Please read and review! Thanks for the ppl who have done so; it means A LOT (and I'm telling the truth. REALLY!) to me. **


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